


Cookies in Distress

by kirargent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Fluff, M/M, Writer Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirargent/pseuds/kirargent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Open House" means "hey, come look at my house before you pay me a load of money and move in," not, "hey, come <i>rifle through my shit while I'm talking to someone else.</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cookies in Distress

**Author's Note:**

> blame [Caroline](http://sluttycas.co.vu/)

"Yeah, you get the whole upper floor." Dean gestures around them, at the cluster of rooms that make up a small but suitable living space. "I'm downstairs - I'm quiet, I swear - and you've got a bedroom through there, a bathroom right next to it, a rec room, a... um."

"Dean?"

Dean drags his eyes back to Ms. Anna Milton, who's looking up at him with big, dark doe-eyes. "Right. Yeah, uh." Dean shakes his head. "Sorry."

He gets back to his spiel.

"You've got a kitchen right there, complete with dishwasher, stove, oven and refrigerator, and you've - you've -"

Another drawer bangs shut, and Dean presses his lips together.

"Would you excuse me a minute?"

Anna nods, a faint look of confusion sliding over her delicate features as Dean strides off for the kitchen, mouth set in a frown. 

"Open House" means "hey, come look at my house before you pay me a load of money and move in," not, "hey, come _rifle through my shit while I'm talking to someone else_."

Reaching the kitchen, Dean leans against the edge of the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. He's built, he knows that; he's sure to cut an imposing figure to the guy whose current mission seems to be to dig through every single one of Dean's kitchen drawers. Of course, Dean's awesome guns mean nothing if the guy won't friggin'  _look_ at him. Dean works his jaw, shifting his weight to his left leg. _  
_

If he wasn't so damn concerned about his kitchenware - he just bought the stuff, damn it, and he _just_ organized those drawers for the open house - Dean might take notice that this guy has a really, really nice ass. And nice thighs,  _shit_ , he either works out all the time or has a ton of really athletic sex.

Yeah, but Dean doesn't notice any of that, because he's too preoccupied with  _what the Hell is this guy doing in my kitchen?_

Impatient, Dean clears his throat. 

Guy doesn't look up.

Come on, it's a tiny kitchen, how is it taking him so long to get through all the drawers?

"Excuse me," Dean says.

He's all crouched down in the corner, pulling open the bottom drawer.

"Hey," Dean tries again.

Doesn't effect the guy. 

"What the Hell are you doing in my kitchen?"

He still doesn't react.

Is he deaf? If he's deaf Dean's gonna feel like a dick.

In fact, Dean's opening his mouth to apologize - even though that makes no sense, if the guy's deaf he wouldn't be able to hear him anyway - but then the guy is standing up, brandishing Dean's favorite oven-mitt in a triumphant hand. He smiles.

Dean blinks, words jamming up in his throat.

"I'm sorry," the guy says. He's got a voice that sounds like rocks grinding together, and Dean imagines he could make anything sound sincere. Still, he looks like he means it. He offers another apologetic smile. "Your cookies were in need of saving."

"I..." Dean's mouth moves but for a moment nothing comes out, his brain too slow catching up with the situation. "I'm sorry, my what needed saving?"

"Your cookies," the guy says, his tone all matter-of-fact. It's almost laughable, such a serious, grave voice talking about cookies. What cookies?

Oh, son of a _bitch_.

"I forgot the timer again - the doorbell rang and I - ah, shit, I bet they don't even deserve to be called cookies anymore," Dean fumbles.

The guy is smiling still, now leaning over the oven - Christ, what legs he's got - rescuing the cookies from the oven just like he'd said.

There's no way he got to them in time.

"Aw, Hell," Dean laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. A strong hand wrapped in Mom's old oven-mitt holds up the tray of heat-mangled crisps for Dean's inspection. Dean meets the guys eyes - and shit, really friggin' blue, whoa - and wrangles up an embarrassed grin. "Least the house'll smell like chocolate-chip now, huh?"

Man, the guy's eyes get all crinkly when he smiles, and that's just too cute to be fair.

Dean is saved from the unfair levels of cuteness when the guy turns away, depositing the cookie sheet on the stove to cool before they attempt to scrape off the burned remains of the cookies. They're gonna need those like, wallpaper-scraper things or something.

Mister Blue-Eyes-Cute-Smile-Weird-Guy takes off Mom's oven-mitt carefully, tugging finger-by-finger, and he lays it neatly on the counter.

Dean's insides feel funny, all warm and tingly and shit.

Weird Guy leans against the counter. "We can try to salvage these in a few minutes," he says thoughtfully. He pokes at a blackened cookie but jerks his hand back quickly, shaking his head. "Still need to cool some."

Dean stares at him. "You're gonna put one of those things in your _mouth_?"

"Where else would I put it?" the guy asks wryly.

Dean just stares some more.

A soft flush creeps over the guy's cheeks, and he ducks his head.

Man, adorable guys are Dean's weak spot. This is not fair. Someone is out to get him.

"I'm sorry," the guy says again. "I'm not usually this forward. I don't usually - root through people's kitchens, or, or even talk much, really, I -" he shakes his head. "This is not a great first impression, is it?" He sticks out a hand. "Castiel Novak. Soon-to-be-published writer, looking for a place to stay while I wait for my deal to go through." The color stays high in his cheeks, a contrast to the rest of him, all cool and composed. "I'm interested in this place."

For another moment, Dean just keeps on staring. Then a grin spreads over his face.

"Yeah, that's awesome, man. Uh, you better talk to Ms. Milton over there - oh, crap, I said I'd just be a minute -"

Dean turns to head back toward Anna, but Castiel catches him by the arm, and he freezes. Cas has big hands. Big, warm, strong hands.

Dean turns back, licking his lips, mouth overcome with sudden dryness.

"That isn't necessary," Cas says quietly. 

Dean lifts an eyebrow.

"Anna is my sister. She offered to come with me. My, ah. 'People skills' are rusty, you could say."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Different last names?"

Cas hesitates. "It's... a long story," he admits, "involving divorced parents and minor familial warfare." He smiles weakly, and shoves his hand (the one not currently burning through Dean's thin shirt; God, his hands are warm) into the pocket of his dark jeans, shifting his weight with distinct discomfort.

Dean winces. He's smooth, though. He can save this conversation.

"So," he says.

It's not weird that Cas's hand is still on his arm, that's normal, that makes total sense. For some reason.

Dean flashes a smile. "You wanna move in?"

Cas awards him a grateful look. "That would be lovely, yes."

Dean nods. "Awesome. Okay." He licks his lips again, unsure where to go with this conversation but sure he doesn't want it to be over. "You can bring your stuff by any time you want," he says graciously. "D'you, uh. Need any helping moving anything?"

"No, thank you." Cas smiles again, small and sweet. "My sister will help me. Her girlfriend owns a truck." The smile slips. Cas's grip on his arm tightens. "Speaking of Anna - do you see her anywhere?"

"I, uhh..." Dean looks around, searching for a bright head of red hair. He comes up empty. "No?"

Cas looks alarmingly grim.

"Cas?"

"They're having sex in my car," he says with absolute certainty. "Again. Damn it."

Once more, Dean just stares at him.

Then he snorts.

"Man, your sister's got game. Getting lucky at an open house?"

Cas looks intensely displeased, and that just makes it funnier.

Dean is struck with sudden, brilliant inspiration. "Hey," he says, casual as can be. "You need a place to chill while they... do their thing? I got the new Game of Thrones season on DVD in my room."

After a brief, glowery pause, Cas smiles again, and Dean's insides turn gushy. "I would appreciate that, thank you."

"Awesome."

"I wasn't aware they'd made the books into a TV series. That sounds... interesting."

Dean stares. Again.

He has a feeling he and his new housemate are gonna be doing a lot of staring.

He slides his arm out from under Cas's hand in the interest of grabbing said hand and tugging him from the room, leaving the rest of the interested crowd to fend for themselves.

"Dude, I have so much to teach you."

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT Jul 25 14: tiny continuation post [here](http://casbunnies.tumblr.com/post/92843349106/youve-seen-tagged-in-the-flash-fiction-challenge)!


End file.
